It’s National Foam Rolling Day, and I need to get re-acquainted with mine. My excuse is I can’t use the foam roller in our basement workout area because it’s a mess, what with all the construction of doors and windows. (We have double doors now! Just need to get that stairwell in.) Yes, I could use the roller upstairs in another room. Maybe I’ll get around to that someday. Rolling rigid muscles on a hard foam roller is about as pleasant as—I imagine—being tossed around in a rapidy river full of boulders. Oh wait, I do know what that’s like! Next to a professional massage, a roller is just what the masochist ordered for smoothing out those lumpy muscles from all the walking on pavement my body’s endured for the past year. I used to get a massage every four to eight weeks, but then this pandemic thing happened. I haven’t had the courage to go back, despite that my masseuse is about the best there is.

Years of sports and hiking in steep mountains with a too-heavy pack, not to mention skiing and bicycling, has, well, made me lumpy and stiff. A dodgy hip, wonky knees, twisted spine, and mild scoliosis let me know they’re there. I do pay attention, but I don’t let their wingeing stop me from take my daily constitutionals. Yesterday my back ached after a 3-mile walk home from the library. Regular massages have helped me stand up straight, kept my various deformities from ruling my life, and helped me make it through the night without waking up in pain after a 50-mile bike ride, as did switching from a regular bike to an electric assist.

The only problem with electric bikes is that when your battery charger stops working and your battery runs out of juice and your bike is now considered “old” at 6 years and the electric battery company decides to make a different style charger that doesn’t fit your “old school” battery and bicycle parts are months on back order…is that you can either ride your 37-pound bike, which is like pushing a boulder uphill—even on the downhills—or you can NOT ride your bike. At all. Hence a lot more walking these days.

Well, at least the irises are blooming everywhere, the peonies are out, and some of the azaleas are still hanging on. And I have a basement door and window. Two more windows to go. Oh, and Mamacita sounds much better. She’s out of quarantine and can finally enjoy social activities, such as they are. But at least she can leave campus and go for visits with my sister. Yesterday was my parent’s anniversary; would have been 69 years. Wow. Hubby and I would be 108 and 106, respectively, if we made it to our 69th.